I Will Try To Fix You
by Genjutsu-Dragon
Summary: Balancing the demands of a kingdom, being Warden-Commander and trying to keep a promise is hard work. An Awakening AU in which Alistair is the one who goes to Vigil's Keep, and runs into someone he didn't expect to find there. Alistair/Leliana, eventually. Some indication of an F/F relationship in the early stages, so if not your bag, other stories are elsewhere.
1. A Heavy Burden

**Guess who is being very bad and starting a new story rather than working on the ones with way overdue chapters…**

**This plot snuck into my head a few months ago and I've been fiddling around with it since. I finally have a solid plan for where I want the plot to go, so I've decided to have a crack at it. Hopefully it'll be worthwhile. Updates for my Jaiden Tabris story and Carver/Merrill are being worked on, I promise!**

**-Genjutsu-Dragon-**

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Nobody had ever told him that crowns were heavy.

Apparently Cailan's head had been a bit bigger than his as well. Alistair felt the band of hammered metal slip down his brow for the umpteenth time and tried to subtly push it straight while concentrating on what the man kneeling in front of the throne was saying. He couldn't even remember who it was, and felt his chest tighten in panic. He was expected to say something at the end of the man's declaration of fealty, but what?

He was saved his embarrassment. When the man finished talking, he opened his mouth and promptly shut it again as a commanding female voice to his left said his words for him, a lot more confidently than he would have.

"Your vow pleases my lord husband, Arl Wulffe. We thank you for your loyalty and determination over the troubles Ferelden has suffered in the last year, and you will be rewarded with the following bannorn to be added to your lands." One of the stewards read out a name, one that Alistair had never even heard before, but it bought an appreciative gleam to the Arl's eyes so evidently it had been well chosen. Perhaps it would be better to concentrate on trying to look regal and let his wife do the talking.

His wife. She was not a prize Alistair had expected to receive as a result of helping defeat the Blight, and she would be furious to be referred to as such. It was a sensible political choice, allowing somebody who knew how the country needed to be run to remain in power while also pleasing those who apparently fell apart if a descendant of Calenhad wasn't on the throne. All the same, Alistair would rather it had been anybody other than Anora.

There was no denying the fact that she was pretty, beautiful even, had a clear head on her shoulders and was practical enough to not let her father's death influence her decisions following the rout of the darkspawn. But when she looked at him, there was no tenderness or warmth to her expression. He'd wanted to eventually marry somebody who was happy to see him and made him happy to see her, but that choice had been taken out of his hands when the decision was made for him that he should be king.

It had taken a long time for him to forgive Nia for pushing him towards the role he'd been so strongly resisting. It felt like they'd only just repaired their friendship when she was taken away again – this time for good.

Nia hadn't tried to persuade him to perform Morrigan's ritual, but he'd overheard the offer and Nia's refusal to talk him into it. At the time Alistair had agreed with every argument Nia made – saving one or two lives was not worth unleashing an Old God in the body of a child on Thedas. He'd also been furious on her behalf as Morrigan tried to manipulate the mage into compliance by using her relationship with Leliana. At that point Nia had told her to get out.

Alistair had been proud of her in that moment. He could have gone to Morrigan himself and offered to go through with it based on what he'd overheard, but he'd had a better plan. He didn't want to be king. He would fight alongside Nia until they came up against the archdemon, and then he would take the killing blow. He would perish but Nia and Leliana would have each other.

As if she had known what he planned to do, Nia had left him and her lover behind. It had been wrong, so wrong. Out of all the people that should have been on the rooftop with her at the end, it should have been her fellow Warden and her lover. Instead, Nia's heroic sacrifice had been witnessed by a drunken dwarf, a lecherous elf and an old woman who had driven Nia around the bend with her lectures, however well-meaning they had been.

Alistair knew he wasn't being fair to Zevran, Oghren and Wynne. But it hadn't seemed fair to them either. He'd known Nia was gone from the moment the archdemon's soul exploded out of its body, and Leliana had looked him in the eyes and had _known_. It was with that knowledge that they'd had to fight through the last of the darkspawn and up to the top of Fort Drakon, and still some shard of hope had been present in both of them. Alistair found himself regretting that he hadn't gone to Morrigan. If he'd only known that Nia would stop either of them from being present…

Would he have gone through with the ritual? Would he have risked whatever it was that Morrigan meant to create? Possibly. He would have done a lot of things to prevent having to see Leliana falling to her knees beside Nia's body, and hearing the howl of pain and grief that had followed.

The funeral had been reverent enough, and probably unprecedented in the amount of respect shown to an elven mage. But it hadn't seemed like enough. Barely was the ceremony over and the Wardens come to carry Nia's body away to Weisshaupt when Eamon had started making arrangements for Alistair's coronation. He'd felt like a boy again, watching decisions being made about him without being consulted, and he had sat through the meeting when the gathered nobles had decided on the compromise of him wedding Anora feeling completely numb.

And now…this was his life. Trying not to embarrass her and to remember what he was supposed to say and do. There was so much to being a king and Alistair hated every minute of it. It was a relief that Anora had not insisted on his consummating the marriage just yet, although it was only a matter of time. For the moment, he suspected she still saw Cailan's face in his own. Her husband's infidelities had been a source of serious discomfort – and he suspected some feelings of inadequacy, if Anora could ever feel that – and it might take her a while to realise that Alistair was not the same.

He might not have wanted to marry her, and he might not love her, but he was determined to do right by her. She had thus far prevented him from making a total fool of himself and he was grateful for that. She hadn't even sought to punish him in subtle ways for his involvement in her father's death, something he had been particularly concerned about in the beginning. Instead she concentrated on settling the affairs of the kingdom and Alistair concentrated on learning his role.

He had other responsibilities besides a country, however. While it had been Nia's unique skills of persuasion that had assembled their group as they travelled Ferelden, almost all of them had stuck by him while he struggled with the initial burden of the crown and his own grief at losing one of the best friends he had ever had. He wanted to show his gratitude to all of them, and above all, he wanted to keep the promise he'd made to Nia when she had bid him goodbye at the gates of Denerim.

"_Look after Leliana for me."_

Only that was a very difficult thing to do seeing as the bard had vanished not long after the coronation. Alistair had had it in mind to offer her a court position so he could keep an eye on her, but he never got around to making it before she disappeared without a trace.

He feared for her. At the funeral, Leliana had not cried, but held Nia's hand so tightly that Alistair had been forced to prise her fingers away when it was time for them to leave. The look she had given him haunted him still. It was as though she had nothing left to live for. For all Alistair knew, Leliana had willingly gone to follow her lover into the dark. All he could do was circulate his description to the people he trusted to keep eyes open throughout the kingdom, and hope to find her again.

He was thinking about this again when he felt fingernails digging into his arm. Anora had taken it in a gesture of affection, but her fingertips pressed hard into his elbow. "My lord." Her voice was pointed, clear indication that this was not her first attempt at getting his attention. "We are finished." Alistair looked around the throne room and realised to his shock that most of the nobles were gone. "I suggest next time that you try not to drift off when we are supposed to be rewarding subjects for their loyalty."

"Sorry, Anora." He hung his head like a boy as she gave a sharp huff.

"Please make an effort, _my lord_." How in Thedas did she manage to make that title sound like an insult? "There is a messenger waiting to address you, in particular. I suggest you do not doze off if you want to salvage any respect for yourself."

Despite being stung by her tone, Alistair took her advice and straightened up. Maker's breath, had he been slumped in his seat like this since Wulffe had been talking? No wonder Anora looked annoyed. "Show him in." The slight crack on the last word make him wince in embarrassment, and his wife looked away. The steward called the man in.

Alistair wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been news to do with the Wardens.

"The garrison from Orlais has arrived and been settled at Vigil's Keep, Your Majesty." Alistair raised his eyebrows. Orlesian Wardens in Howe's old fortress. Some people were not going to be happy about that. "As Warden-Commander of Ferelden, they ask you to please attend them and discuss what you want to do regarding the Fereldan branch. As you know, recruits from within Ferelden are somewhat thin on the ground." _In other words, there's just one of me. And I'm kind of busy being king._ "It is suggested that you pass on the role to another as you are otherwise engaged. There are several experienced Wardens amongst the Orlesians; there may be one you deem suitable to act as your replacement."

For the first time in two months, Alistair felt a stirring of excitement. He'd missed being part of the Wardens. Those six all-too-brief months he'd spent with the Order before Ostagar was the most cherished time of his life, and while a group from Orlais would not be the same – and probably would be very disapproving of the fact that he'd taken a title – he wanted to see if he could find even a hint of the camaraderie he hadn't known since Nia died. Cautious of Anora's feelings, he looked to his wife first.

"I must confer with the Queen before I decide to go. If you'll give me a moment?"

The messenger looked surprised, but nodded and was escorted out. Anora was giving Alistair a cool look, and he gave her an awkward smile in return. "So. Do you think you can stand a month or so of me not being a prat while you try to run the kingdom?"

"It will be a trial." Her tone was so dry that for a moment she reminded him of Morrigan. _Yeesh. That's not a good thought. _However, for the first time since they had wed, she actually looked a little amused. "I think you should see to the Wardens. As the messenger astutely indicated, there is only one Fereldan Warden alive, and I don't think that the citizens of Amaranthine will take well to having the seat of the Arl occupied by Orlesians. I suggest you do some very quick recruiting and try to make the Orlesian presence at the Keep unnecessary."

_Like father, like daughter._ Given that Cailan had been revealed to be trying to engineer a marriage between himself and Empress Celene, Alistair was hardly surprised that Anora would be prickly on the subject of Orlesians. He focused less on that, though, and more on the fact that soon he would get to go to Amaranthine and not be King Alistair for a while. He could be a Warden again, albeit one just there to tie up affairs rather than fight darkspawn.

Hopefully, when he came back, Anora would start seeing him as Alistair rather than Cailan's brother. He would be completely faithful to her while he was away; he wouldn't even allow a chance for a rumour to spread to the contrary. When she learned he was capable of not emulating his father and brother in all aspects of his life, maybe she would warm to him a little. It would certainly make the next twenty-five years or whatever he had before his Calling easier.

He cleared his throat and instructed the steward to retrieve the messenger, trying not to look too excited. Apparently it didn't ever do for a king to look too excited about anything. It was as if somebody was deliberately trying to make this royalty thing boring.


	2. A Reason To Live

**Chapter Two! Thanks for the reviews. The next chapter is where we will get into the Awakening story proper. **

**-Genjutsu-Dragon-**

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One of the first lessons a bard learned was not to get attached. Not to friends, not to mentors, not to lovers. Every person in their lives had to have a purpose, but not be indispensible. A bard should merely be mildly inconvenienced by someone they knew going missing, not crippled by it. It was a lesson Leliana had never managed to take to heart. If she'd succeeded she might still be in the capital now, immersed in the Grand Game and wilfully blind to Marjolaine's nastier attributes. One did not become a bardmaster without being ruthlessly unscrupulous, but Leliana had convinced herself that Marjolaine truly cared for her.

She'd tried to remember her lessons and maintain the same distance from Nia that she should have done as a bard. When pleas based on the Maker's will had failed to stir the mage from her belief that it would not be wise to take a Chantry sister on their quest, she had fallen on old training to try and win Nia's trust. It had worked in persuading Nia to take her along, and although Leliana had played at being friends to begin with she had kept her distance; at any moment, Nia could fall to a bandit attack, to darkspawn, or be abducted by templars and returned to the Tower. Leliana could not allow herself to become attached.

And yet, it had happened. Despite a life spent within stone walls, Nia had accumulated a collection of stories to rival any minstrel, and Leliana had been content to sit and listen as the mage told her tales rather than the other way around. It also left her with the freedom to observe. Nia was a pretty woman, with a suggestion of steel in grey eyes that belied her otherwise delicate appearance. According to Wynne she had been a favoured pupil of the First Enchanter at the Tower, but that had not made her a Loyalist. She had been rebellious without being silly enough to conduct any serious breach of the rules.

At least, not if there was any chance of her being caught.

Over weeks and months Leliana had made her excuses for being close to the mage. Nia was in some ways staggeringly naïve about the world, it only made sense that she should have an escort when she was in town. And when she was on watch, two pairs of eyes were better than one. When discussing combat tactics, Leliana was sure to be there to offer the perspective of a person used to stealth, something neither Warden excelled in. As for bathing together…well, somebody needed to make sure Zevran wasn't peeping at Nia from the nearest bush.

She'd been more than a little scared when she started catching hints of something more than friendly interest from Nia. Life was a fleeting thing and if she became attached she could not bear it if she lost the other woman. So for a while she was aloof, something that clearly stung the elven woman, and between Redcliffe after healing Eamon and the Brecilian forest they had barely exchanged a word.

Then she had gone to patrol the camp one night and when she returned to her tent, she found a small bunch of Andraste's Grace on her pillow. Nia had picked them not in an attempt to woo her, but simply because she correctly believed that Leliana might like some reminder of her mother. They did, but from that point onwards the small white blooms were forever associated with the mage's thoughtful gesture, and Leliana began to willingly succumb to her feelings for Nia.

She still couldn't think of their first kiss without feeling the bursting behind her ribs that had accompanied it, along with the pain of knowing that there would be no more. Nia had come out of her tent following a nightmare and given Leliana no warning before pressing her lips to the bard's. Leliana had been so surprised she fell backwards off the log she had been sitting on, with the mage sprawling across her. It could have been embarrassing beyond measure but instead, Nia had laughed. The joyful sound had woken something Leliana thought she'd locked away for good and she had silenced Nia with another kiss. Neither of them had thought to move from their undignified position until Alistair had returned from attending to a call of nature and wolf-whistled at them.

It was a treasured memory that should not hurt so much. She and Nia had made plans for after the Blight, hoping that planning for the future meant that they would have one. Leliana had been going to show her Orlais and Antiva. Then they would travel to Rivain, and after that, wherever their interests took them.

Instead Nia had been carried to Weisshaupt, not knowing her destination, or anything at all. And Leliana had left Ferelden carrying a heart even more broken than it had been when she arrived.

She could have stayed, and found distraction. The new king doubtless would have some use for a bard, and she was fond of Alistair. They were good friends and he had taken Nia's passing almost as hard as Leliana had. She also could have accompanied Zevran to Antiva, Sten to Seheron, Wynne and Shale to Tevinter. None of these options appealed. She didn't want to have watchful eyes over her, brows creasing with worry every time her stare grew distant or her expression became sorrowful.

Instead, she chose to remove herself from everything that reminded her of Nia. But it didn't work. Even out of Ferelden, there was something to remind her of her Warden wherever she looked, and she still sometimes caught herself admiring something pretty or well-made and wondering if her lover would like it before everything came back to her and her grief made her wince with its renewed edge.

It was too much, at times. In the darkest parts of the night she sometimes found herself with dagger in hand, justifying what she wanted to do. She had accompanied Nia so far, perhaps the right thing to do would have been to follow her Warden regardless of the order to stay at the gate, and they might have perished on that rooftop together. It would have had a poetry to it that other bards could sing of, and Leliana…she might have been happy. She might also have been oblivious. Either would be preferable to this hollow ache that never ceased.

But the fact remained that she had lived, and although she sometimes pressed the blade hard enough to her wrist to draw blood, she always pulled it back. The Maker had taken her lover but kept her alive for a purpose; the test would be in finding what it was.

It wouldn't involve becoming a bard again. Although Marjolaine was dead and her deception involving Leliana had become widely known enough that she could have safely entered the Great Game once more, Leliana had no desire to do so. She was through with manipulating people for petty ends and being a pretty-faced assassin. Neither did she want to be a mercenary. For a time, being a minstrel suited, and performance could help drown out thought enough that sometimes she felt like her old self. The entire Blight could drift away on a few well-known notes and the appreciative roar of a crowd in a tavern, and Leliana liked to pretend that this had been her entire existence.

The illusion always died once the evening was over and the crowd had dispersed. After, Leliana would return to her room, climb into her empty bed, and try so hard not to cry. Nia had always been brave – Leliana had only seen her shed tears on a handful of occasions, and tried to do her the honour of being equally strong despite missing her so badly. These evenings proved that being a travelling minstrel would not do for her forever. There was something she lacked – something that might not completely soothe the pain of losing the woman she loved but might help her feel as though she wasn't wasting the time she had been given.

She'd marked the days since Alistair's coronation. Over a hundred had passed – one hundred painfully slow days that started and finished with a prayer to the Maker for some sign as to what she should do – before either He or simple fate intervened, and placed in Leliana's path two strangers fighting off a darkspawn ambush, on the road through the forests of Val Fôret.

Instinct had kicked in even before she finished wrinkling her nose at the smell of rancid flesh, and a genlock went down with an arrow through the eye. It all felt so familiar that she half-expected to see the other companions fanning out around her, ready to distract the darkspawn from their victims and engage them. Of course, nobody was there, although it quickly came to light that the pair did not need much help. After the fight was over, Leliana needed some distraction from the ghosts of the past that had threatened to overwhelm her, and went to check on the pair.

She'd been so wrapped up trying to ignore the fact that Nia had not jumped into the thick of battle with flames blasting from both palms that it wasn't until she drew near that she noticed the tiny griffon insignia the pair wore on their shoulders.

The man retrieved a rag and wiped down his blade as she approached. "We're grateful for your intervention, ma'amselle." He was a lean man with a broad smile, and there was no suggestion that he and his companion would have been fine without Leliana's help. "Nice to meet you. I'm Yannick." His bow was reflected by the woman at his side.

"Nathalie. Who might you be?" Nathalie's gaze flicked to the downed darkspawn. "You seem quite familiar with engaging these monsters."

Leliana offered a gentle smile – brighter ones were harder to assume, these days – and introduced herself, explaining that she had been in Ferelden during the course of the Blight and got more than her fair share of practice against the darkspawn. Yannick immediately looked interested in hearing more, but Nathalie reminded him that they needed to report back to their post about the ambush. Although as it turned out, she didn't object to the idea of Leliana's company either.

"Come. We can offer you a bed for the night and you can tell us all about your experience of the Blight. One hears such stories…it will be interesting to get the perspective of somebody who was actually there."

Leliana's skill as a bard was not so depleted for her not to consider another motive for the Wardens' interest in hearing her side of the story. Throughout the Blight, the other branches of the Order had remained very quiet; Nia had expressed the belief more than once that they had given Ferelden up for lost after hearing about the massacre at Ostagar. Now that the archdemon was dead they suddenly had an interest in re-establishing the Order within the country, but had very little idea of what had actually happened. Leliana would tell them…and in the meantime listen for any hints Yannick and Nathalie might give about what the Order had been up to while darkspawn ravaged Ferelden.

The Wardens had an outpost ten miles further along the road, and hidden a little off the beaten path, presumably to avoid attracting wanderers such as Leliana. That she had been invited was an honour of a sort, although she was still concerned that they might be planning to pump her for information. They would only get what she elected to tell them, of course. There were certain things…Nia's decision to let Avernus live, for example – that might not go across so well.

To her surprise, it turned out to be more of a jovial evening gathering rather than a questioning over dinner. There were five other Wardens at the outpost and after being introduced, one of them recognised Leliana's name. Interest redoubled in hearing about her travels with the Warden, and Leliana talked, and talked, and talked. She had barely touched upon her own experiences when speaking of the Blight before, but now she seemed barely able to stop. She still wove her story in a manner she judged appealing to her audience, and omitted details that might cause trouble for any of the remaining companions, but as she spoke something seemed to lighten within her. It felt as though she had been carrying a heavy ewer of water with her for some time and now she was finally permitted to pour it out.

It didn't completely alleviate the small ache she always carried with her. But when she did finally retire that evening, she realised that she had enjoyed the company of the Wardens. Telling them stories and gradually being relaxed enough to tease them made her feel as though she was back with the companions, and it was more soothing than painful.

She began to contemplate staying.

It was a very different path from what she might once have assumed. Following her abrupt departure from her life as a bard, she had wanted nothing more than peace. The Maker had seen fit to guide her instead back towards a life of fighting, but with a higher goal than raising the status of one family or tearing down another. Now, it seemed, she had received another gentle push.

She expressed the idea to Yannick – who, despite a certain amount of boyish charm, clearly took his role as the de facto leader of this particular squad of Wardens seriously – over breakfast the next morning. She'd already proven herself in combat against the darkspawn, but he still hesitated.

"I would have thought that after a year fighting those things, you'd be happy never to see another again," he commented, looking more serious than she had seen him be up to this point. "Choosing to become a Warden is something that requires absolute certainty. You will have to leave your previous life behind."

Leliana hid a wry smile. This would make it the third time she'd had to turn her back on her past and try focus solely upon her future. Instead, she nodded solemnly. "I understand that being a Warden involves dedication beyond simply fighting the darkspawn. I still wish to contribute my abilities."

Yannick rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Very well. You'll return with us to our stronghold when we have finished clearing this area. If you are still convinced that you want to join us, then you will be accepted into the Order there." He gave her a direct look. "Once you have walked through the gates, there will be no turning back from your appointed task."

He wasn't to know that Nia had told Leliana about the Joining ritual. The bard was perfectly aware that she might sip from the chalice and die right there, but whether she survived or not, she would die a Warden. Hopefully, even if it lasted only a few seconds, she could pay tribute to the woman who had reshaped her life in this way.

They spent another few weeks at the outpost before the squad started the journey to Montsimmard. Leliana helped where she could – not just in weeding out the darkspawn that kept cropping up in the area, but also negotiating for food on behalf of the Wardens and picking up bits of information from conversations with merchants on the road – and slowly, a sense of camaraderie she had almost completely forgotten started to emerge. Yannick badgered her for stories in the way Alistair and Nia used to and Nathalie's occupation did not prevent her from vocally appreciating a fine dress she saw in the marketplace or giggling with Leliana about some particularly diabolical attempt at following fashion.

Leliana had almost forgotten how to giggle. The other three Wardens in the group – Walt, Nicolas and Maria – also made her feel welcome, and with that assured her that she had taken the right course. If she died in the Joining, she would follow Nia. And if she lived, she had something to live for, the greater purpose that had eluded her since the moment she cradled the elf's broken body in her arms.

It didn't stop the tears that sometimes came at night, or the bouts of melancholy that sometimes pulled the smile from her lips, but it made their appearances less frequent.

They reached Montsimmard two weeks after her first encounter with Nathalie and Yannick. As they had drawn closer to the Keep, her mood had started to gradually lift, despite the Wardens becoming more doleful. Perhaps they were concerned about how she would react when she 'discovered' what the Ritual entailed. She had told them nothing of her relationship with Nia, although she had shared plenty of stories about the elven mage, and so they had no idea that she welcomed the idea of what might happen. If she did die, there would be no more pain. Of that she could be certain.

The Joining did not take place immediately. Yannick insisted on giving her a guided tour of the barracks, and then she had to present herself to the Senior Warden in charge. Henri was much older than most of the other Wardens present, and had a faintly milky glaze over his eyes that make him look blind. He was still clearly sharp enough to be in charge – and not so overwhelmed by the Taint that he was considering his Calling – and questioned her at length about her experiences with the Fereldan Blight, Nia's decisions and Alistair's contributions. He appeared to be looking for some evidence of a power play in the lead up to the Landsmeet, but Leliana offered nothing of the sort.

Then everything happened very quickly. Yannick and Nathalie were called upon to vouch for Leliana's skills in battle, and once they were done Henri left his seat and fetched a small glass vial and a silver chalice from an armoire in the corner of his office.

"I gather you have been given the necessary precautions about taking this role." The black liquid was poured into the chalice, and even if Leliana had not known what would occur she would have guessed what it was. "We take the darkspawn blood into ourselves. Become like them. Through this we can sense them and hunt them. I am afraid that now you know this, there is no turning back. You may not leave."

Leliana wondered what it had been like for Nia, to have the full realisation hit her when there was no opportunity to walk away. Not that she would have had much anyway. An elven mage would have few places to go, outside of the Order. She simply nodded grimly, a response that caused Henri to raise an eyebrow, but he made no further comment. Instead he began to intone the Oath.

"Join us, sister. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us in the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that you will not be forgotten, and that one day, we will join you."

Henri handed the chalice over silently and Leliana gazed into the black depths for a moment. If she died, what excuse would they use to cover it up? Would they even need to? Nobody who wasn't a Warden knew she was here. It occurred to her, too late, that she would have liked to send at least a message to say goodbye to the other companions. At least they wouldn't have had to wonder…

Too late. She was aware that she was taking too long, and that Yannick and Nathalie stood behind her with swords drawn to end any resistance before it truly began. She wasn't weak and she could stand a chance against them if she was truly determined to escape, but Leliana did not even entertain the idea. Instead she lifted the chalice to her lips and drank.

It was even more foul than she could have imagined, and preparing for the pain that was sure to follow only did so much. Awareness of falling to the floor of the office disappeared and the only thing she was aware of was a song both beautiful and maddening that drove her to move, along with hundreds of others like her – other darkspawn, all desperate for that music and willing to tear through mountains to find it. She was both aware and not of being trapped in the monster's skin and the pain built on itself until dying seemed like a merciful release.

On Henri's office floor, the shuddering rolling through Leliana finally ceased and her limbs went slack. Yannick crouched by her side, pulling his gauntlet off quickly to feel for the pulse at her neck. His smile before he spoke answered the question before his words did. "She lives."

Henri nodded. He was not a man who smiled often but there was a slight curve to his lips now. "Good. Find a room for her and make sure the kitchen is prepared for when she wakes." Yannick and Nathalie bowed and removed themselves, carrying Leliana between them. Henri resumed his place at his desk and leafed through his correspondence, his mind not really on the task.

There were more important things for a Senior Warden to worry about than a single woman surviving her Joining. It seemed as though Ferelden would be seeing more trouble before long.


	3. Grim Reunion

**Well this turned into a bit of a monster, but I didn't want to do the two POVs as separate chapters. So here you go! Severe angst in this chapter; the next few will be slightly lighter in tone, I promise. Thank you again for reviews, Ladyameindsy, Snafu1000, Sacred Bob, DarklyTranquil and PurpleBiscuit!**

**-Genjutsu-Dragon-**

* * *

Despite the protestations of just about everyone around him, Alistair had insisted on travelling to Amaranthine alone. He was dressed in reasonably fine plate but otherwise there was nothing about him to distinguish exactly who he was; the griffon on his shield only marked him as a Warden, not as a king. He did not want to arrive at the Keep and give the impression that he had become used to warming the throne. If he was to converse with the Orlesians, he would so do as Warden-Commander. In the end, there was little anybody could do to stop him, although he was fairly certain that palace spies watched over his travels. The road from Denerim to Amaranthine was a popular trading route and there could have been any number of eyes amongst the merchants and travellers on the road who knew full well who he was.

It was actually a little relaxing. Nobody called him 'Your Majesty', or bowed to him, or asked in a faintly grovelling fashion if there was anything that could be done for him. Neither were there noblewomen about who sought to tease and flirt, perhaps trying to persuade him to the same ends as Cailan. If his half-brother could be persuaded to consider divorce, then it made sense that some might think him capable of the same – which naturally made Alistair all the more determined not to be lured in. He still hoped that once he'd been with Anora long enough and shown no interest in another woman, these fortune-hunters would give up and find other prey.

He didn't make the trip entirely alone, in the end. From the last inn on the road he sent a message to let the Keep know of his imminent arrival, and found someone waiting for him when he left the next morning. The young woman in red plate started to bow as low as required for a monarch, stopped herself, and managed a simple salute. "Warden-Commander. I am Mhairi. I have sent to be your guide for the last leg of your journey."

Alistair returned the gesture. "Greetings, Mhairi." He didn't need to ask if she was also a Warden. Her blood didn't call to him. "Are you a knight of Amaranthine?"

"Denerim," she corrected. "I am at the Keep to join the Wardens. Senior Warden Yannick deemed myself and my friend Ser Rowland worthy." The pride in her expression was really quite touching, even if Alistair felt discomforted imagining how she would look when the realities of the Order were revealed to her.

"Congratulations." He didn't sound quite convincing enough, and managed to pull together the faintly goofy smile he'd perfected for putting Nia at ease. "You seem like you will be a fine addition to the Wardens."

Her skin might have coloured under her helm, Alistair couldn't really tell due to the cheek guards. "Your Maj…the Warden-Commander is too kind."

It was interesting that this Yannick had chosen to send a recruit – not even a junior Warden – to meet Alistair. Perhaps the man had thought that he might feel more at ease in the company of a Fereldan native. Perhaps he believed Mhairi would show him the deference the Orlesians would not, once he arrived.

Alistair found he didn't mind either way. Mhairi was stiffly formal for the first mile of their walk, but once she worked out that he wasn't going to order punishment for less than perfect behaviour she talked more freely. She couldn't bring herself to call him Alistair, however, despite his invitation for her to do so. She addressed him as Commander, and Alistair reminded himself that was what he was meant to be. He hankered for his original role in the Wardens, that of the junior who had so much to learn from his more experienced peers, but that time was done. He had to at least look like he was capable of being in charge, even if he was planning to hand over his authority in the Order to another at some stage.

Mhairi filled him in on the history of the Keep. He had been present when Anora handed over control of the fortress to the Wardens, and he knew it had been home to a lord called Howe, who had apparently been the one to prod Loghain further and further towards recklessness. Alistair suspected that was Anora's story for herself as much as him, to explain why her once-great father would condone the selling of Fereldan citizens into slavery and poisoning Eamon. It was a moot point now, anyway. Howe and Loghain were dead, the arl's seat was still empty, and Wardens occupied the Keep. That was all he knew, but apparently it had a long and rather fascinating history, and Mhairi was a reasonably adept storyteller. Alistair happily forgot about the long conversations and complex decisions that would await him upon arrival, and simply listened.

Right up until he felt the familiar prickling at the base of his skull. He hadn't felt it in six months, but he would never forget what it meant. He didn't realise he had stopped walking until Mhairi's voice intruded, laced with concern as Alistair unhooked his shield from his back. "What's the matter?"

"Darkspawn."

"But…" Mhairi was also arming herself, despite her evident alarm. "We're so close to the Keep. There shouldn't be any darkspawn nearby-"

Her protest was cut off by a hoarse scream, and Alistair ran ahead, all his fretting about his introduction to the Orlesian Wardens forgotten. A bend in the road bought him out from behind the slope that had been obscuring his view of the Keep, and not thirty yards from the entrance a scrawny man with a mace was frantically smashing it into a fallen darkspawn. There were more nearby, and a guttural series of growls rose as Alistair charged forward to engage the beasts. He heard Mhairi behind him joining the fray and unleashing a volley of curses that he was fairly certain the Teyrn of Highever would never have heard her utter. Meanwhile the man who had screamed crawled to the side of the road and played dead until the darkspawn had all fallen.

Alistair wiped his blood-blackened sword on the grass as Mhairi strode over to the man and pulled him to his feet. "Evard! What happened here?"

"I don't know! They just came up from below the Keep!" The man was babbling, completely terrified. "The Wardens…they're all dead!"

Alistair felt the blood drain from his face. _Not again…_he couldn't be completely alone in Ferelden with a darkspawn uprising _again_. In fact it was worse this time around, as he didn't even have Nia. "Are you certain?"

"I…I think so…"

"Right." Alistair had not donned his helm before engaging the darkspawn; now he jammed it over his head with an air of determination. "Mhairi, we're going to try and find any Wardens that might have survived, as well as the Keep staff. If we can get anybody out of there we need to do it now before the darkspawn completely take over."

"You can do it. I'm not facing those things again – I'll fetch the guard!" Evard found his feet and scrambled away before Alistair could order him to stay. Although frankly, Alistair didn't want a man like that at his back anyway. Instead of forcing the man to uphold his duty, Alistair turned towards the Keep and drew in a steadying breath before striding forwards, his sword pommel clanging off his shield to draw the attention of the darkspawn in the area – hopefully away from anybody who might be hiding.

In a way, it was just like old times. They came thick and fast, genlocks, hurlocks and shrieks, and Alistair slashed and parried and stunned until his lungs burned with exertion and his back was soaked with sweat from the effort of wearing full plate and fighting. He had clearly let himself become a little too lax in his training. There was little time for a king to get his exercise in, at least if he intended to try and learn how to be a king rather than spending the treasury on his own pleasures.

Muscle memory helped him and despite the sweat and the weight of his armour, Alistair cleaved his way through the darkspawn with an efficiency that surprised even himself. His efforts only redoubled when they found the first soldier and learned that there were others still living within the Keep walls, although time was running out. Alistair and Mhairi fought their way to the front door, saving some and not being quite quick enough for others.

The prickling in his skull only increased once they entered the Keep. Alistair frowned; the entrance doors should have been shattered from whatever the darkspawn had used to get in, and there should have been a lot more dead around the walls. Scratch that, the darkspawn shouldn't have been able to get through the fortifications in the first place. The walls were solid enough and the gate could have been quickly dropped hopefully skewering a few of the monsters in the first place. Then the Orlesian Wardens could have played a nice game of pick-off-the-darkspawn for a while with their bows until the monsters finally got the hint and ran away. Instead…

Maker's Breath, had they come from within the Keep? That alone would explain how the Orlesian Wardens had been killed but not the inexperienced soldiers on the outer defences. But how had it been managed? The Wardens should have sensed such a large number of the creatures clustering so close…

Mhairi was reflecting his thoughts aloud, an edge to her voice belying the ruthless efficiency with which she had slain the darkspawn. Alistair wasn't going to judge her for that. He was feeling more than a little shaken himself; over a dozen Wardens in this place and not one had made it as far as the outer walls. Still, they had to keep moving. There might be some people hiding within the Keep who hadn't been found by the darkspawn yet, and the longer they waited for reinforcements the less chance those people had of surviving.

One way was blocked by rubble and a portcullis closed off their access to the main areas of the Keep. They would have to go around.

A locked side door unhindered by debris gave way with a few solid kicks, and as Alistair charged through a new sensation tugged at him, different from the darkspawn but just as capable of making the hairs on his neck standing on end. All that time with Morrigan and Wynne and magic still made him nervous – although in the case of the former, that made sense. And besides, whoever was wielding it was an unknown. Alistair dared to hope that one of the Wardens might have been a mage, but he couldn't sense any Warden blood in the next room.

Not any that wasn't on the floor, anyway.

The source of the magic became clear at the exact same moment Alistair's nostrils were assaulted with the stench of burning darkspawn. A man clad in rather elaborate mage's robes stood at the other end of the room, cheerfully frying one of the monsters with fire blasting from his hands. Alistair's attention only focused on that for a moment, however. He was far more unnerved by the dead templars scattered around the man's feet.

Presumably this had shown on his face. The mage noticed them, turned around, and held out his hands in a helpless gesture. "Er…I didn't do it."

While he should have been glad to know that at least somebody had survived within the Keep, Alistair narrowed his eyes at the other man. Morrigan had called him foolish many times, but he wasn't as stupid as she had claimed. A mage surrounded by dead templars was something to be very cautious about. This particular one didn't seem particularly bothered about pleading his case. "I'm not sorry they're dead. Biff there made the funniest gurgle when he went down." He sounded so flippant about it. Alistair gritted his teeth as Mhairi demanded to know who the mage was and the man responded by moving closer, smiling broadly. "Now you weren't here when I was bought in. I'm sure I would have remembered such a lovely lady as yourself."

_Smarmy git._ Also, how did he just pull sentences like that out for a complete stranger? Back when he was still able to talk to women without Eamon reminding him of his duties as a king or being fearful of Anora getting the wrong impression, he'd always tripped over his words and ended up making a prat of himself. It was just fortunate that the few he had become comfortable with had been stuck with him for long enough for him to manage to talk to them.

The mage was bowing. "My name is Anders, wanted apostate. Well, I was wanted, then they found me. This seemed like a good rest stop on the way back to the Tower. So they said, anyway, and now they're dead. Such a shame."

"Show a little respect to the dead, for the Maker's sake!" Alistair was no strange to being flippant in the face of danger but this was ridiculous. He wasn't surprised that Anders would hold no love for the men and women who were returning him to the Tower but make light of the fact that they'd all died at the hands of the darkspawn…

Anders held up his hands. "Whoa, all right, calm down. I'm not exactly jumping for joy about being in a building full to the brim with darkspawn either, I'm just trying to look on the positive side of things."

"The positive-"

Thankfully, Mhairi cut off Alistair's outraged response before he could really build up steam. "Anders. At the moment, we've got the outer walls clear. It might be possible for you to make a break for it but if more of the darkspawn pop up you're on your own. If you join with us your chances of getting out of this in one piece are significantly higher."

Alistair bristled a little at this, but there was sense to it. Having a mage at their side would make clearing out the rest of the Keep significantly easier – provided that the man didn't choose to try and save his own skin by running out now. Instead, Anders responded with an easy grin. "You have my staff, then. Not to worry; I might not be a Warden but I'm not fond of the darkspawn either. We'll figure out what comes later…later, after this mess is sorted."

"Right." Alistair's voice was terse. They were wasting time standing around talking while the darkspawn continued to defile the Keep, and he kept thinking he could hear distant screams that made him even more eager to keep going and find the place where the darkspawn had made their way into the Keep.

It turned out that taking the mage had been a smart decision. Despite being thoroughly irritating Anders was decent at combat magic and was focused during their skirmishes, although Alistair did savour the moment when they witnessed a dwarf blowing up a group of darkspawn and Anders having to pick remains out of his hair with a display of disgust on par with that of a nine-year-old girl realising there was a very large spider on her shoulder.

With the portcullis raised, it was evident that the darkspawn had been busy. Hanged corpses lined the walls, and Alistair grimaced at the stray thought that those which were female had been lucky. They had probably died quickly and just been put up as grisly decoration – otherwise, they would probably have been dragged away to be made into broodmothers. There were survivors, but so many had died that Alistair found it increasingly difficult to be cheered whenever they did find somebody alive. And there were still no signs of any other Wardens. It was beginning to feel like Ostagar all over again.

Which made it even more of a shock to come running through the door and find a very familiar red-headed dwarf using his axe to lay out darkspawn with gleeful abandon. Alistair pulled up short and gawped, an action which would have earned him an arrow to the skull if he hadn't been wearing his helm. "Oghren?"

Oghren turned and peered at him before grinning broadly and turning his back on the darkspawn for a moment to wave. Alistair heard Mhairi start to raise her voice in warning behind him, but there was no need; with more speed than a man in heavy armour should have been able to move, Oghren turned about again and cleaved a genlock in two, roaring as he did so. "Good to see ya, Pike-Twirler!"

"Pike…?" Mhairi sounded absolutely flabbergasted that anybody would address the king in this way; Anders clearly had no idea of Alistair's title as he chuckled and summoned a spell to blast at one of the darkspawn.

"Don't ask." Alistair found he was actually smiling as he ran forward to shield bash a hurlock. Oghren might not be a Warden, but it was good to see somebody familiar in this whole mess. Particularly as Oghren was especially skilled at fighting darkspawn – the room had contained an emissary, two alpha hurlocks and several genlocks, and should have been difficult to clear. Instead it took them a matter of minutes to finish, and when they were done Oghren came over to punch Alistair in the arm.

"Nice to see warming the throne hasn't made yer entirely rusty," the dwarf grinned. "How's the ball and chain? Still got her knickers in a knot about Nia knocking off her da?"

Alistair ignored the flurry of whispers from behind him as Anders worked out who he was and confirming it with Mhairi, and tried instead not to go purple as he imagined how Anora would react to being summed up in such a way. "Anora's well. Doing a better job of running the kingdom than I am, anyway." He managed a crooked smile. "What brings you to the Keep, Oghren? I thought you were still in Orzammar with Felsi."

"Aye, well, wandering around under all that sky for so long killing darkspawn gave me an itch-"

"There are creams for that, you know," Anders piped up. "I'm not rubbing them in for you, before you ask."

Oghren snorted. "Wise-ass. Anyway, I came here because I thought I'd have a shot at becoming a bona fide Warden. Got a bit of a surprise when I got here and realised I wasn't the only one who thought of it." He grinned. "You'll never guess who else is here."

Alistair looked at him blankly. "Who?"

* * *

This had to be another nightmare. Even though her eyes were telling her that the halls were lined with dead bodies, even though she was currently crouching over Yannick's body and could feel no pulse at his throat, it couldn't be real. The Senior Warden was already cold and the expression fixed on his face in death was ghastly. Leliana managed to close his eyes but could not do the same for his mouth, the end result being as though he had died screwing his eyes up and shrieking in terror. Leliana sat back on her heels and muffled a sob.

She had been apprehensive when she learned that she was part of the group being assigned to Ferelden, but had voiced no complaint about it. During her travels with the Warden, Leliana had never passed through Amaranthine. It wasn't a place where every corner would provoke memories, and besides they would only be stationed there for as long as it took the Warden-Commander to recruit some Fereldan Wardens and choose his successor. Speaking with Alistair again would be difficult, but Leliana imagined – hoped – he would be kept busy enough that they couldn't talk often. Not that she wasn't looking forward to seeing him again, quite the opposite, but it would mean questions about how she was coping following Nia's death and Leliana did not want to talk about it.

In her wildest imaginings she couldn't have foreseen this. All her fretting about how speaking to Alistair and explaining her decision to become a Warden seemed extraordinarily unimportant now. Every Warden she had come to the Keep with lay dead. Most of the servants were as well, and many of the soldiers. Leliana had survived by sheer luck alone. She had been a Warden long enough that the darkspawn could track her down but none of them had been able to sneak up on her; each and every one which had managed to find her was dispatched by her arrows. And she constantly kept moving, instead of letting herself be fought into a corner. Theoretically she could have escaped by now, but she would not until she was absolutely sure everyone else who wasn't dead had got out.

Not that she was especially motivated to make it out alive right now. Once again she found herself in a place that seemed so bleak it was as though she'd never see the sun again, and this time there were no comforting lay sisters or friendly travellers to take her mind off things. Just this, a Keep that seemed more a dimension of some rage demon's part of the Fade than anywhere real. Perhaps it would be better to die on a darkspawn blade than feeling the weight of her failure to help anybody once again. Even as she turned away from the Senior Warden's body, Yannick's death rictus remained firmly imprinted in her mind.

Just giving up ran the risk of her being captured and taken to an even worse fate, however. She didn't know if female Wardens could be made into Broodmothers but she didn't think it was possible for her to give up hope enough to just submit to the process. The memory of Hespith's recitation in the Deep Roads was still powerful enough to make her shiver, and give her the drive to keep moving. If she found nobody else in the next hour, she would try to head outside and see who had managed to escape. Then a plan would have to be formed – possibly by her. If she was the only Warden who had made it out alive, that made her the de facto leader of any soldiers that remained.

No wonder Alistair had been so reluctant to give commands, if he had felt anything like she did right now. Leliana had plenty of experience working alone and taking point as part of a pair, but in charge of a whole group? She might be able to work out how to deploy each person to her best advantage, but she was still only a junior Warden and the soldiers would know it. If any of them decided to just abandon the Keep altogether, there would be nothing she could do.

She had to prepare herself for that role anyway, and carry on with her current task in the meantime. Bards had to adapt for the very worst situations and she couldn't afford to think about the what if. Instead she focused on flushing out every last darkspawn she could and try to find Oghren in the process.

Finding the dwarf at the Keep had been a surprise, albeit a welcome one. He didn't appear to have changed at all and had informed her in the first few seconds that her chest was holding up well, topping off the unorthodox greeting with a wall-rattling belch. Despite that, she'd been grateful to see him; he'd asked her how she'd been and didn't seek to comfort her or talk about what a wonderful person Nia had been. Instead he had distracted her with stories about what he'd been up to after leaving Denerim, and had managed to make her laugh more than once.

If anybody stood a chance of getting out of the Keep in one piece, it would be Oghren. In the best case scenario, he would already be out by now, but Leliana doubted he would have left while there were still darkspawn to kill. So she needed to find out what had happened to him as well as searching for other survivors.

Past a certain point there were more darkspawn corpses than human, the great dents in their armour and rends in their flesh indicating Oghren's particular fighting style. Leliana followed the trail, clinging to the last bit of hope she had that the dwarf would be alive and well. If he'd made it this far from his room he might make it all the way to the entrance –

A very familiar bellow echoed along the hallway and Leliana broke into a run, one arrow already notched and ready to fly. A series of bedrooms lay up ahead and a flight of stairs. If Oghren made it to the stairs he could go up another level, but he could also be backed into a corner, particularly if he was in a berserker rage at the moment. Leliana could feel the large cluster of darkspawn in the area, as well as a similar sensation that wasn't anywhere near as unnerving. Her heart leapt – had another of the Wardens survived after all? She thought she'd counted them all lying amongst the dead downstairs…

She rounded a corner and found a pitched battle. Four alpha hurlocks and a pair of genlock rogues were attacking not just Oghren but three other people – the Highever knight who had come to join the Order, a handsome man in mage's robes, and Alistair. He was currently bashing the daylights out of one of the hurlocks and knocked it to the floor. As he raised his sword to plunge it through the creature's helm, one of the genlocks appeared behind him with dagger drawn, aiming for the gap in Alistair's armour.

Within the next second it was twitching on the floor with an arrow in its throat. It was ineffective to continue shooting in the narrow corridor, so Leliana dropped her bow and drew her daggers, gutting the other rogue before it was even aware of what had become of its comrade. She threw herself into the fight, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sheer familiarity of the situation. With the mage firing lightning behind them, Alistair on one side and Oghren on the other side, Leliana suddenly felt as though the last six months hadn't happened at all and they were simply clearing out some location of darkpsawn on their way to collect a treaty.

She would have to make sure she didn't look disappointed when she turned around and registered that the mage standing behind her was not Nia.

The last of the alphas dropped to the floor. A second later Alistair's sword and shield had followed it, and before Leliana even had time to think of a greeting he'd wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. She responded before she really thought about it; hugging him in his blood-smeared plate was very uncomfortable but she was grateful for the contact. For just a moment, she let herself sag against him; she had been fighting for the better part of three hours now and her reserves were drained. Fortunately, Alistair's bulk was enough that he barely seemed to notice the tiny amount of additional weight, and within a few seconds she'd pulled herself back together and straightened up. Alistair was smiling at her, in the boyish fashion that had become very familiar the longer they travelled together. "It's good to see you, Leli."

"And you, Alistair. I – I'm sorry, I had forgotten you were due to arrive today…"

"Can't really blame you for that." Alistair's smile dimmed. "This is horrific. Are all the Wardens dead?"

"All except me."

That caught his attention. He blinked down at her. "You're already a Warden?" He rubbed the back of his head, somehow looking even more grave than he had a second ago. "Of course. I should have picked up on it, sorry. When did you-"

"Not to interrupt the reunion," the woman – Mhairi – cut in. "But we still have a Keep to clear out."

"Yes." Alistair cleared his throat, then said the words Leliana had dreaded as he met her gaze again. "We'll talk later."

Leliana didn't answer him, but retrieved her bow and fell into position as the group began moving on again. There was no escaping the fact that he was going to ask the questions she didn't want to answer, and she could fall back on obfuscation for so long. And there would also have to be what came after dealing with the darkspawn – gathering up the bodies of her friends and fellow Wardens for the funeral pyres. Hopefully, Alistair would recognise that she needed time to mourn before insisting on finding out what she had been up to for the last six months.

Once again, the grief that might have completely overwhelmed her was smothered by more important things. Fighting the darkspawn required her complete concentration and at last, their presence within the Keep started to recede. Were they withdrawing or had Alistair's group managed to kill most of them? Either way, it looked like the five of them might make it out of this alive, after all.

She wasn't the only one to have lost somebody in this attack, anyway. Mhairi had come to the Keep with another knight named Rowland, who had been very courteous and quite obviously smitten with his companion. Only the previous night Leliana had been quietly laughing with one of the other Wardens, a woman called Angelique, about dropping hints to Mhairi until she clued in on Roland's affections. Angelique was now dead and Rowland would not be far behind; they found him slumped near the exit onto the battlements, alive but tainted. There was nothing to be done for him.

Still, he was coherent enough to realise who Alistair was, and with a little prompting managed to share his perspective on what had happened. Leliana nodded as Alistair looked at her to confirm the sequence of events; she hadn't been in the area to hear Varel give the order for a counter-attack, but she had been aware of the darkspawn and had joined a few of the soldiers to tackle a group of them on the battlements. By the time all the soldiers had been slain and she had managed to shoot the last darkspawn herself, the invasion had been fully underway and attempting to locate the other Wardens had only sent her stumbling over their corpses. Fear, exhaustion and misery gripped her again, making her sway slightly. She hadn't felt like this since the battle with the archdemon.

She was gradually hitting breaking point, but there was still more to come. Rowland managed to warn them that the reason why the darkspawn had managed such a complex ambush was because they were being led by one of their own. One that talked. Nothing but an archdemon should be able to do that. Leliana wanted to believe what Oghren said; that the taint was warping Rowland's mind, and that he was falling into delirium. But the darkspawn couldn't have managed something like this on their own, so…

They couldn't question Rowland any further. After managing a weak salute in Alistair's direction, he slumped back against the wall, and Mhairi bent over him to offer a short prayer as Alistair gently tugged at Leliana's arm. "Did you see the talking darkspawn at all?"

She shook her head. "I had no idea what was happening. There were darkspawn all over the Keep in minutes – if I didn't know better I'd say they did that deliberately to scatter the Wardens and make them easier to pick off." And perhaps that was actually why the darkspawn had fanned out all over the Keep after their initial blow. It would certainly make sense if something with a bit of tactical thinking was behind all this. The thought of a darkspawn capable of speech was enough to make her very frightened indeed, however. The darkspawn were already capable of great savagery just through sheer strength of numbers. If they could work out where best to apply it – it didn't bear thinking about.

"We need to try and find it." Alistair looked uncharacteristically grim. "If it can talk, it can be questioned." That was assuming they could capture it. If it was as strong as Rowland said then they might be in serious trouble.

There were only a handful of places left within the Keep it could be hiding. The pull of the Taint drew them upwards towards the battlements, disposing of a few more darkspawn on the way. It didn't feel like there were very many left at all at this point – just the few that stood out here. And in a few guttural syllables, one of the darkspawn confirmed what Rowland had seen. The sound of its voice grated down Leliana's spine like fingernails, and she could find no comfort in discovering that Seneschal Varel had survived. Not when he knelt with a darkspawn blade at his throat. The talking hurlock stood over him, but did not give an order to kill.

"Be taking this one gently. We are wishing no more death than is necessary."

The darkspawn had hung their victims in the hallways and slaughtered every Warden in the place, and considered it necessary? Even though this one had somehow learned how to talk, it clearly didn't make it any less of a monster. Varel was somehow brave enough to say so, and for some reason it actually amused the darkspawn. "You are thinking you know of our kind, human? That is understandable. But it will soon be changed."

"Others will come, darkspawn. They will stop you."

"Damn right." Alistair had stepped out of the shadows, sword raised defiantly. It would have been better to try and shoot the darkspawn that held Varel from a distance and then finish the other one before it realised what had happened, but Leliana couldn't deny it was an effective distraction. She slipped into the shadows, edging her way towards the darkspawn standing over Varel.

She did not pass beneath notice. The talking darkspawn turned its head towards her, nostrils dilating as it caught the scent of the Taint in her blood. _Merde_. "Capture both of the Grey Wardens. The others may be killed."

A genlock lunged in her direction and Leliana managed to kick it away, her heart suddenly in her throat. Alistair was already running directly at the talking darkspawn and Anders had sent electricity crackling through two more; Oghren and Mhairi moved forward to engage the other hurlocks. Struggling to catch her breath, Leliana managed to put an arrow through the genlock's skull and then send another through the hurlock that was attempting to drag away Varel.

Rowland had not been lying about the talking darkspawn's abilities with magic. A blast of power sent all three warriors falling back, and an arcane shield quickly defended against Anders' attacks. With all the other darkspawn down Leliana tried to steady her hands enough to send an arrow directly into the hurlock's eye. This had been easy, once, but lack of practice with the bow and fatigue and fear made her hands shake and the first attempt not only did not hit where she intended, but missed the darkspawn altogether. Still, it distracted it for long enough that it didn't have time to skewer any of the warriors while they were down. Oghren was back on his feet first and his axe met the hurlock's knees with a sound that Leliana was fairly certain would play a role in her nightmares for some time to come. That and the scream that followed, which was quickly cut short when Oghren decapitated the creature.

"Bloody thing. Talking darkspawn, who knew?"

"It's an ugly bastard for sure. Do you think there might be any more?"

"I'm not sensing any. I think we might have cleared out the Keep. Either that or the rest have fled back to where they – Leli, are you all right?" Alistair cut himself off to look at her in concern as Leliana leaned against the wall and let her head drop as the dissipation of the darkspawn sense allowed everything to truly sink in. Yannick and Angelique and Walt and the rest…all dead. There was nothing she could have done but it felt like there was. At the very least, she could have died alongside her fellow Wardens like she was supposed to. _In death, sacrifice._

She tried. She honestly tried to keep the tears back, but the defences she had erected against them since finding the first of her companions slaughtered were now crumbling, and she bought up a hand to cover her face as her shoulders started to shake. "_Non_."

This was not what she had intended when she joined the Order. She had meant to honour Nia's memory, not let more people she liked fall.

Hands took her shoulders, soft voices – not just Alistair's, but those of Oghren, Varel, Mhairi and Anders as well – murmured reassurances, and she was gently shepherded back into the Keep. She vaguely heard Varel suggesting that they should find a place to rest and patch themselves up in the outer buildings until the reinforcements arrived and could remove all the bodies. Exhaustion made things seem disconnected. One foot went in front of the other and tears blurred her vision so she was almost unaware of it when they passed over the threshold of one of the groundkeeper's homes. Someone helped her to a bed and she didn't even take her boots off before she fell into it.

The nightmares would come eventually but for now she didn't care. Instead she pulled the blankets around her and welcomed the temporary reprieve of oblivion.

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***now feels very bad for bludgeoning Leliana with the bad luck stick repeatedly*. Poor woman. Still, if you enjoyed this chapter, please feed the muse with reviews; it's how she survives!**


	4. The Work Begins

**Chapter four for you! Thank you again, reviewers :) Not any Ali/Leli interaction in this chapter but I don't want this story to be solely about them.**

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Alistair rubbed his face with a shaking hand and watched the column of templars turn their backs and march away. The soldiers who had come from Amaranthine had already streamed past and been set to the task of collecting the bodies and wood for the funeral pyres. The darkspawn would be burnt without ceremony, the fallen had to be accounted for in full so they could be sent to the Maker's side in the proper fashion. The Keep would have to be stripped of everything that might have been tainted and every inch of it scrubbed to prevent even an accidental infection in future.

If only that mammoth task had been their only concern. Instead, Alistair had directly annoyed a senior templar by refused to rescind Anders to her custody. He might have done it had it simply been a case of Anders being returned to the Tower, but Rylock had wanted to hang him for the murder of the templars in the Keep. While Alistair was still uncomfortable with Anders' flippancy about that, he didn't believe the man would be stupid enough to try and kill his captors. He'd protested and Rylock had addressed him with the lofty air of a Revered Mother speaking down her nose at a ten-year-old boy, as though she clearly knew what was better for him than he did.

In hindsight, his decision to Conscript Anders had been a hastily made one and fuelled by emotion rather than practical decision. But the words had been said and there was no taking them back now. Besides, the mage was proving himself useful and aiding in bringing out the bodies without a single smart-alec comment. Perhaps he realised that now was not the time.

As well as putting his relationship with the Amaranthine chapter of the templars on shaky ground from the start, there dozens of other things for him to deal with. There were still prisoners in the Keep who needed to stand trial. Oghren, Mhairi and now Anders waited for their Joining. A list of the dead Wardens needed to be collected and sent off with an explanation of events to Orlais, and Alistair still wasn't sure what had happened. They had to search the Keep for the point the darkspawn had breached and make sure that the monsters couldn't get past it again. And then there was the tricky task of feeding everyone here, now that most of the servants were dead or gone and anything that had been in the kitchens could not be consumed in case the darkspawn had come near it.

There was also Leliana. Alistair had so many questions for her that he wasn't even sure where he'd start when he had the opportunity to ask. Right after she woke up would certainly not be a good time. He couldn't blame her for being overwhelmed at the end of the battle – she'd apparently been in the Order long enough that she'd had the time to form a rapport with her fellow Wardens. Their loss and her exhaustion had taken their toll and she would need rest and a few solid meals in her before he could start badgering her with questions. Technically, as King and as Warden-Commander he could demand answers immediately, but he hadn't travelled with Leli for a year only to underestimate her abilities to talk her way around any subject she did not want to touch. For now, he had to be patient and concentrate on the tasks that needed to be attended to immediately.

He decided to put off the Joining for a while until the Keep had finished being stripped of every trace of the darkspawn. Instead he let himself be introduced to various citizens of the Keep, including the dwarf that had blown the darkspawn to kingdom come. Dworkin bubbled with ideas and put in a request for lyrium sand, which Alistair hadn't even been aware was a thing. He made a non-committal noise that Dworkin interpreted as agreement, and the dwarf left satisfied. It was true that the explosives Dworkin could produce would be extremely useful if they faced a similar attack, but Alistair was not too keen on the side-effects of the experimental stage.

He was distracted from worrying about that by being surprised to learn that Wade and Herren had arrived at the Keep some months earlier. He had not paid the armourers much thought, in truth; through Nia's efforts, he had a magnificent set of dragonscale plate courtesy of the pair, but that had been stocked in the palace armoury along with a great many other mementoes of his travels with the mage. It hadn't even been his favourite set, in the end. It was sturdy and practical, but the Warden-Commander's armour had made him feel like a really Warden rather than bumbling around in the dark. He hadn't been worthy of it but that hadn't stopped him wearing it. Through that and having palace armourers already in place, he hadn't seen Wade or Herren at all since before the Battle, and if he'd given them thought he would have assumed they had died in the onslaught. Instead they had come to Amaranthine, and the moment the Orlesians had set themselves up at the Keep, Herren had headed straight over to offer Wade's services. It seemed to be working well enough for Herren, even though Wade was still complaining about the lack of challenge in his work.

These were pleasant conversations and Alistair was always happy to meet familiar faces, but they were distractions from what he needed to do. He helped with the clean-up as much as possible, and then before he sent his recruits to the Great Hall to participate in the Joining, he needed to see the prisoner in the dungeons.

It was an open-and-closed case, as far as the sergeant was concerned. The prisoner had been caught stealing and faced the sentence for it; a cruel man might hang him, a kinder man might let him off with a flogging and a mark burned into his cheek. Neither option appealed to Alistair, but neither could he do nothing. If it had simply been a case of thievery, he would have ordered the man to receive the requisite number of lashes and sent him off. As king and Warden-Commander by proxy, he couldn't be seen to be weak – even if there were precious few to witness it at the moment.

However, his attention had been caught by the fact that it had taken four Wardens to subdue the man. Whoever this person was showed a great deal of promise as far as combat went. While conscripting him wasn't the kindest option, Alistair figured that he should offer the man the opportunity to have past sins resolved and join the Wardens. After all, the original reason he was here was to try and shore up numbers. Getting to recruit four rather than three seemed like a good start.

It seemed that not everyone was particularly eager that the man live, though. The guard on duty pulled a face when Alistair requested to see the prisoner, although he quickly apologised and obeyed. As they walked down the line of cells, the guard informed him that the man had refused to give his identity and the idea that he was simply a petty thief had been discarded when he showed skills in combat that would have taken years to master. What Alistair wanted to know was what had drawn the man to the Keep in the first place. He had to have a specific reason for picking it; nobody was stupid enough to try and ransack a fortress full of Wardens on a whim.

They had reached the cell by the time the guard finished talking, and Alistair looked through the bars. He didn't recognise the man inside, but there was a familiar cast to his features that made Alistair very uncomfortable. The man looked back at him with disgust twisting his face.

"If it isn't Fereldan's mighty Warden-King, second fiddle to the Hero of the Blight."

Nobody had dared speak to Alistair in such a fashion since he had been crowned. He was used to Eamon and occasionally Anora addressing him like a small child who had got his best clothes dirty, but never had anybody spoken to him with such contempt. It was also one of the few times anybody had acknowledged that Nia had been in charge. Alistair was so caught off guard that he almost took a step backwards.

"Tell me, Your Majesty, how does it feel knowing the nation loves a murdering elf-mage more than you?"

That bought Alistair back with a thud, and he stepped very close to the bars, scowling at the man. "Nia Amell was not a murderer!"

The man's sneer twisted his face unpleasantly, and Alistair felt that jolt of recognition again. "Oh yes, she was. She murdered my father – with your help, I might add." Cold blue eyes locked onto Alistair's, and at last he recalled where he had seen a version of that face before. "I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until you Wardens showed up. Do you even remember my father?"

"I do." It wouldn't be worth recruiting this one. Alistair still recalled vividly the dungeons in which Howe had kept his prisoners, and the tortures he'd inflicted upon them. The evidence had been everywhere of Howe's corruption and taste for other people's pain, and if his son shared even a fraction of that enjoyment then Alistair did not want him anywhere on the face of Thedas, let alone within the Wardens. "He deserved his end."

The response was not what Alistair was expecting. He had thought some justification for Howe's actions, or blind rage, would follow. Instead, Nathaniel raved about how his father had served at River Dane and helped beat back the Orlesians, but their family had lost everything. Alistair looked at Nathaniel curiously. Was it possible that he didn't know about what Howe had done at Highever, or since getting the seat of Arl in Denerim? He hadn't really paid attention to Howe's lineage after becoming king – the man was dead, his family scattered. Alistair had thought that would be the end of it.

He was still fairly certain it wouldn't be a good idea to recruit Nathaniel. But if he genuinely had no idea of his father's crimes…"Why did you come to the Keep, though? There must be at least some people still here who would remember your face."

Nathaniel's gaze lowered. "I learned that you and Nia's former lover were going to be here. I thought to try and kill you both." Before Alistair could reach through the bars and throttle Nathaniel with his bare hands, Nathaniel continued talking. "But then I realised I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It's all I have left."

_Nia smiled rarely, but she was smiling now as she handed a small locket to him. The hinge had been remade and it had been polished so it looked good as new – as though he'd never thrown it at the wall. "This…this is my mother's locket! Where did you find it?"_

"_Eamon asked me to give it to you. He fixed it."_

_Alistair barely heard her as he traced a fingertip over the silvered surface. The one memento of his mother, and he had thought he had lost it when he was ten. He wasn't sure why it meant so much to him that he should have this one trinket, but it did. It was all he had of his mother._

Alistair eyed Nathaniel, still somewhat warily. The man had just admitted to wanting to assassinate him and Leliana, but something else had won out. Perhaps a sense of decency Rendon Howe had never possessed. "How much do you know about your father?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "I was squired in the Free Marches. I heard…whispers, but I assumed they were nothing more than the usual gossip and slander that plagues most nobles." He crossed his arms. "Look, I know you're a hero. You fought a war and you won, and to the victor goes the spoils, right?"

_Right. A queen who barely likes me, a country that I'm not allowed to run, and ownership of a Keep full of dead Wardens._

"Whatever my father did, however, shouldn't harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now, those of us left. It's all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn't it?"

Alistair made a non-committal noise, and he turned away from Nathaniel to think. It wasn't smart to just let him walk free. Even if he hadn't gone ahead with his plan to try and murder Alistair and Leliana, he was still a thief who had found his way into the Keep and was a formidable fighter. If a few drops too many wine set him back on the course of assassination, he might just succeed. Alistair would much rather know where somebody who hated him was than not.

Which left him with two options. Execution or Conscription. Nathaniel didn't appear to have the faintest idea of what Alistair was thinking of doing, or even to care much if he was getting out of here alive. If he had been trying to convince Alistair of his suitability for being a Warden, Alistair would suspect that the man was simply biding his time until a better opportunity to carry out his original plan. But he wasn't, and if he truly was not like Rendon then he deserved the opportunity to prove he could do better with his life than simply thieving.

Alistair made his decision, aware that it was entirely possible he was going to regret it later on. He nodded towards the guard. "Fetch Varel for me."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Come to a decision? At last. I was getting bored of this cell."

Varel did not take long to arrive, and upon learning who Nathaniel was instantly shot the man a look of disdain. "The Howes are implacable enemies, Commander."

_And my father and my brother were both philanderers. Family does not always make the man._

"I wish to invoke the Rite of Conscription."

Nathaniel immediately lost all composure and gawked at Alistair as though he was mad. Varel wore much the same expression as he asked Alistair for confirmation, and then Nathaniel wrapped his hands around the bars and shook the cell door. "No. Absolutely not! Hang me first!"

"You'd rather be dead?"

Nathaniel looked thoroughly bewildered. "I…just…do you like having Grey Wardens who want you dead?"

_Nia didn't like the idea of working alongside a man who was training to be a templar at one point either. _"I like the idea of having Grey Wardens, full stop. I can't afford to be picky, and you can fight. I'll risk it."

"You are a strange man."

"Speak to your king with more respect, Howe!" Varel was almost growling at Nathaniel, who while still confused by Alistair's decision, was clearly not perturbed by the seneschal.

"King? Commander? It doesn't matter. I know my place…although I question it." Nathaniel's response made Alistair once again question the wisdom of what he was doing as well. But it might all be a moot point, soon. The Joining was fickle and spared the frail as equally as it spared the strong. There was no way of telling if Nathaniel would survive. The look Varel gave Alistair told him that the same thought had occurred, and it was for that reason that the seneschal wasn't protesting more. Instead he opened the cell, and the pair of them walked with Nathaniel between them straight to the Great Hall. The other recruits had been summoned; now that there were no more likely candidates within the Keep, it seemed like the best time to get the Joining out of the way.

Anders, Oghren and Mhairi eyed the newcomer curiously when Nathaniel was bought in, chains linking wrists and ankles. Nathaniel for his part stood up straight, with the bearing of a noble despite his peasant clothing, and didn't deign to look at the others. Oghren narrowed his eyes. "I'd know that nose anywhere." He looked at Alistair. "What are you thinking, Pike-twirler?"

"He has the skills that suffice for a Warden," Varel answered on Alistair's behalf, as Nathaniel's lips thinned – either with anger or suppressing a smile at Oghren's moniker, Alistair wasn't sure. "We will give him the chance to prove himself a better man than his father."

Varel went on to explain how the Joining worked. Everybody but Oghren blanched, but none tried to flee. Alistair was relieved. He did not want the task of putting down anybody who changed their mind.

Oghren was the first, and drank far more than a sip. Whether the taint had less of an effect on dwarves or maybe it was because Oghren was so pickled in alcohol by now that the Joining barely worked on him, Alistair wasn't sure, but there were no convulsions or falling on the floor. Oghren's eyes went white and then he belched. The other recruits looked a little more relaxed now, and Alistair wished he could tell them that wasn't normal. He did not.

Anders was next, and met his fate with a quip, unsurprisingly. Alistair rolled his eyes, although his expression quickly became sombre again as the mage fell backwards. Mhairi and Nathaniel looked at his fallen form nervously, then both visibly let out a breath when Anders was declared still alive.

Then it was Mhairi's turn. She accepted the cup eagerly, visibly brimming with pride at having been accepted into the Order, although Alistair thought he detected an air of solemnity that might just have something to do with Rowland. It was a shame they couldn't have gone through the Joining together, as planned.

Then again, perhaps not. If Rowland had survived he would have had to deal with the same sight as they did now; Mhairi choking and gasping for help, horrified eyes fixed on something only she could see. When she fell to the floor, there was no doubt that she was dead. Nathaniel looked down at her, grim-faced.

"So this would be why the Wardens keep the details of their Joining a secret."

"There are other secrets the Wardens keep," Varel said. "Time to pray that you learn them. From this moment forth, Nathaniel Howe, you are a Grey Warden."

Nathaniel accepted the cup, and said nothing as he looked at the contents. Then he exhaled, and tipped the remainder of the blood down his throat.

The affect was almost instant, and Nathaniel fell. Varel knelt beside him and felt for his pulse. "The Howe is stronger than I expected. For better or for worse, he will live."

Alistair uncrossed his arms and let out a breath as he surveyed the bodies on the floor. Three new Fereldan Wardens. A dwarf, a mage, and a Howe. While he was grateful that he had anybody at all to recruit there were definitely going to be disapproving whispers about his choice, and he would probably hear from Anora before too long. She would be more concerned about Nathaniel than Anders, Alistair thought.

"Have Oghren, Anders and Nathaniel taken to their quarters. See that Mhairi receives a proper pyre." Varel nodded, and after a moment's hesitation to see whether Alistair had anything else to say, left the Hall to carry out his orders.

Alistair sat down on the dais, resting his elbows on his knees. It had been a long day and he needed a rest. And tomorrow the real work would begin – that of running the arling as well as expanding the Order. He knew that an office would have been assigned to him and that there would already be piles of parchment for him to read and sign. Varel had also mentioned that there were already requests for help. All of that would wait until tomorrow.

He waited until the servants had come to move the living Wardens to their rooms and Mhairi to the pyre, before retiring to his own quarters. Despite the ache in his muscles and the sheer exhaustion of a long day, sleep eluded him for some time. His head buzzed with questioning his own decisions. He had gone from nearly strangling Nathaniel to recruiting him and he had saved a mage who might or might not have killed his templar wards. He knew he looked desperate, but if his new Wardens served well, hopefully it wouldn't take them too long to gain the trust of the people.

_They have to. It's on their own heads if they don't...and mine._

Worrying could only keep him awake for so long and at long last he felt himself starting to drift. It occurred to him that he had forgotten to check on Leliana, but...tomorrow. He could do that tomorrow. First thing.


End file.
